


Tough Break

by Crossroads_Demon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Burglar Dean, Burglary gone wrong, Dark, Gunplay, M/M, Russian Cas, forced blowjob, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6191509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossroads_Demon/pseuds/Crossroads_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean turns to burglary to get enough money to take care of him and his brother while they're both living out of their car. He usually goes in and out, doesn’t take anything that looks too valuable or irreplaceable and only does it when he absolutely has to. Unfortunately, tonight he breaks into the wrong house. Castiel Krushnic is ex-Russian mob, running away from the life by hiding in the US. He thinks Dean is a spy trying to out him. Either way, he teaches Dean the consequences of robbing the wrong person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Break

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of dark and there is definitely non-con so don't read if that's not for you. I'm sure this is OOC as hell. Un-beta'd so please excuse any mistakes.

 

His stomach growled. It had been about three days since he’d eaten. He knew he should have at least shared that sandwich with Sam but it was the last bit of food he could get together and it was all that they had left and he wasn't going to take food away from his little brother. He was still growing, he needed the food more than Dean did. He did regret it now though, feeling faint as the adrenaline rushed through his body. He hated the butterflies in his stomach before a break-in. He hated the pounding of his heart as he snuck around the house, making sure that nobody was there, even though he had scoped the place out earlier. He tried to push away all the nervous thoughts: What if this time he got caught? Who would take care of Sammy? For the last four years, ever since he was sixteen and his little brother was twelve, he had been the only one to take care of them. Sometimes that meant making some questionable choices.

He picked the lock on the back door, hearing the tumblers click into place and opening the door, quickly shutting it once he made his way inside. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, crouching low to stay out of the vision of anyone passing by outside. Still crouching low he made his way through the kitchen and to the living room.

It was a clean house, free of clutter and it barely looked lived in. The living room was made up of two couches, a small coffee table and a large tv hanging off the wall. He wondered how hard it would be to carry the tv out of there. Better to stick to smaller items.

Before he could turn around to make his way up the stairs he heard an unmistakable click. He immediately stiffened, instinctively putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

“ _Na kaleni suka_ ”

He froze, unsure of what to do, not wanting to turn around and face the owner of the rumbling voice speaking a language he didn’t recognize.

“ _Na kaleni suka_ ” the man repeated, this time voice raised, as if losing his patience with Dean.

“Hey, I don't know what you’re saying.. English, man. You speak English?”

“ _Amerikanski idiot_ ,” the man let out an aggravated sigh, “I said get on your knees, bitch.” Dean listened closely to the words spoken in a thick Russian accent. His heart was hammering against his chest and his knees wobbled, helping him fall to the ground as the man commanded. He automatically put his hands behind his head, as if he was being arrested. At this point, he hoped that was the worst case scenario.

“Who sent you?” the man asked roughly.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

This time he felt the hard metal of a gun directly on the back of his head. His entire body broke out into goosebumps as the man, now directly behind him, repeated himself, “I am not playing games American, give me name. Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent me!”

“ _Who. Sent. You.”_ He repeated.

“Look man, I don’t know who you are or who you think I am but nobody sent me. I’m sorry I broke into your house, please...just...can you put the fucking gun down?” He didn’t even care that he sounded fucking pathetic, there was a gun on his head and he just wanted to get out of there alive.

Dean waited in silence, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chilly temperature in the room. After a moment, the man knelt down and patted Dean down, gun still trained on his head. He patted down his chest, arms, and stomach. Long fingers dove into the waistband of his jeans then made their way down his thighs and to his legs, checking his boots for hidden weapons, finding his switchblade, which he pocketed, and his lock pick kit, which he tossed aside.

He rose back up again, lowering the gun, to Dean’s relief. “You are just burglar?”

Dean nodded his head vigorously, “yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying!”

The man laughed, uttering words and phrases in Russian that Dean didn’t understand. “So stupid, aren’t you, American? You could rob any house in neighborhood. But you rob mine!”

Dean bristled at being mocked but he knew better than to get an attitude while he was still on the ground, caught by someone he obviously should not have been trying to rob. “I know, pretty dumb, huh? Are you... gonna let me go? I promise I’ll go and you’ll never see me again.”

After a moment of silence Dean heard the man say: “I don’t think so,” and his heart dropped at the matter of fact tone in which the man delivered that line. “Turn around, stay on knees.”

He shuffled on his knees until he was facing him. He was around Dean’s height, fair skinned with slightly messy dark brown hair and cold blue eyes. He wore a rumpled long sleeve button down bunched up around his elbows, a loosened blue tie and unironed slacks. The man studied him quietly and Dean didn’t dare speak up, for fear of angering him further.

“Why you rob me?” He asked calmly.

“I didn’t target you or anything, I just picked a random house in the neighborhood that looked empty. I’m sorry, alright? I’m a shitty burglar and I got caught.” He chewed on his lip for a second. “You gonna call the cops on me?”

“You want me to call cops?” He weighed his options in his head, he couldn’t afford to get arrested, not with Sammy sitting in that motel room alone without any idea of what happened to him. But if this guy was as dangerous as he looked, then maybe jail was the safer alternative.

Slowly he shook his head, “Are you gonna hurt me?” He kept his voice steady, though he was terrified.

"You want me to hurt you?" The man cocked his head curiously as Dean stared at him, no answer forming on his lips. He had to be messing with him, right?

A smug smile appeared on his face as he sat on the couch and called to Dean: “Crawl to me, boy. Like little dog.”

His eyes narrowed in defiance and the man smiled, waving his gun lazily and raising his eyebrow in challenge. He pouted in what looked like mock disappointment, shook his head and ‘tsked’ at Dean.

Still, Dean didn’t budge. He knew he should, gun at his head and all. But he couldn’t, half paralyzed by fear and half paralyzed by pride.

The man stood up from the couch then and Dean tensed up, but he only walked past Dean to disappear into the kitchen. Dean’s eyes darted to the door. It had to be a trick, but it was worth the risk. He had to take the chance.

He quickly got up and ran to the door. He fumbled with the lock and all of a sudden the wood directly next to him splintered, a dull sounding gunshot the only indication that it was a bullet that had struck the door frame next to him. He whipped around and saw the man leaning against the doorway of his kitchen casually, gun with silencer now attached in his hand. “Leaving so soon?” He asked with a cocky smile.

His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground again, raising his hands defensively without making a sound.

“Much better. You are ready to be good boy, then?”

He nodded slowly.

“Show me.” The man flopped down on the couch again, legs spread comfortably and he cocked an eyebrow at Dean, waiting.

He swallowed his pride and crawled on all fours towards the couch, stopping directly in front of his captor.

“You really don’t know who I am?”  He asked curiously and Dean wondered why the hell he would know who the stranger was.

“Not a clue, man. Should I?”

The man scratched his head casually with his gun, probably considering his next move. “I believe you,” he said finally, extending his arm fully and putting the tip of the gun directly between Dean’s eyes.

He went cross-eyed for a second as his eyes instantly focused on the barrel of the gun. “Wait, please!” he said desperately, eyes snapping up to look into the other man’s eyes. “please don’t kill me, please.” The man stayed silent, his face impassive. He squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the bang.  “Don’t fucking kill me, I’ll do whatever you want just… fuck, I’m sorry I tried to rob you, I’m fucking sorry…”

After an eternity he heard a response: “You are very pathetic, groveling. I have tortured men who cried less than this. This is very sad. Stop crying, American. I don’t like it.”

Dean sniffed, squinting one eye open to look up at him. He moved the gun down his face, following a tear streaked path on his cheek until it rested against his trembling lips.

“Open.”

Dean bit his lip defiantly, staring up at the man who shook his head lightly.

“Oh, come on American, you are boring me. I do not like when you are boring me.”

When he didn’t obey the man raised his hand with the gun in it as if he were going to strike Dean. He flinched hard and the man laughed. He tapped Dean’s lips with the gun and he opened up obediently, whimpering at the cool metallic taste that slid onto his his tongue.

“Good boy.” The man said, smiling nastily, “Suck.”

He started moving his mouth up and down the barrel, squeezing his eyes shut in humiliation. A hand ran through his hair and tugged sharply, tilting his head back to slide the gun deeper, towards his throat. He gagged on it and the man laughed cruelly.

“I would be careful if I were you, safety is not on.” His eyes snapped up to stare at the other man in horror. “So pretty. I like pretty dick sucking lips. “You wrap those lips around my cock? You take me down your throat?”  

The man took the gun out of Dean’s mouth. The metallic taste of the gun made him grimace before stretching his jaw to get the stiffness out. Dean blinked back more tears as the shame welled up inside of him. He shook his head stubbornly.

The man poked Dean in the chest with the toe of his boot. “Oh, come on American, suck my cock, entertain me. I do not like when you are boring me.”

The man reached pulled his zipper down and reached into his pants to pull out his dick. _Fuck please no ._

The man let out a dramatic exasperated sigh, “I am becoming bored, American.” He picked the gun back up and pointed it back at Dean’s head.

Dean tried to make himself move, he really did, but he was frozen in place. A muffled shot rang past his ear and he felt a sharp burning pain in his ear. He reached a shaky hand up to it and pulled it back to find blood. “What the fuck, man!”

“I entertain myself!” The man laughed, training the gun back on Dean, “next time it’s head shot. Understand?”

Dean shuffled forward numbly, _Fuck, I can’t do this I can’t do this, please don’t make me do this_. Not that he hadn't done this before, but usually it was a quick blowjob in the bathroom of a bar or a back alley for a few quick bucks when he was really desperate. They were usually too drunk to care if he did a good job or not and he was too drunk to care that he'd reached rock bottom, basically whoring himself out. He reached out tentatively for the hard cock in front of him.

“No hands, mouth only. Mmmm, put hands behind back for me.” The man smirked at him, all cocky and having too much fun with this. Dean glared at him before clasping his hands behind his back and leaning forward, closing his eyes and reaching out with his tongue until he felt the soft musky skin of his cock. 

“Come on, good blowjob and I let you go. Bad blowjob, I shoot you. I feel teeth, you wish I shoot you. Understand? The man shifted his hips playfully and waggled his eyebrows. _This is bullshit._ Not only was he being forced to suck his dick, but the guy had to be a fucking cocky asshole about it.

He tentatively licked up and down the shaft a few times. “Bored now” the man said nonchalantly as he squeezed off another shot next to Dean’s face, nailing the wall behind him.

“Woah, woah man, please….stop!” He raised his hands above him protectively. The man raised an eyebrow at him. “Look I’m ...I’m doing it, ok. Just please... stop shooting y-you’re freaking me out.” _Please please please_. He thought, hoping that his outburst didn’t earn him some kind of punishment.

The man leaned back silently and made a big show of clicking the safety back on but continuing to point the gun at Dean’s head.

 _Good enough._ Dean took a deep breath and hovered over the swollen head, glistening with precum at the tip. Daring himself to do it before he _bored_ the other man again, he took the head into his mouth and sucked down gently, letting the taste hit his tongue. He swirled his tongue around, licking the skin underneath the head and getting some spit going. The cock slid into his mouth easily as he moved down lower, getting his mouth halfway down before pulling back to breathe. He looked back up for reassurance and got nothing but a head tilt from the man above him. He went back to work, moving up and down on his dick, trying to get further down every time and getting close to the thick little curls at the base of his cock before he started gagging from the feeling in his throat.

“Mmm, good boy. You like my fat cock down your throat.” A statement, not a question. 

 _You fucking cocky prick._ He narrowed his eyes at the man. Wrong move. He felt a sharp pain on both sides of his head where the guy grabbed fistfuls of hair and forced him down on his cock until it slid right down his throat and held him there. Coughing and sputtering, he brought his hands forward and tried to push himself off of the guy but he was too strong. Just when he felt like he was going to black out he was let go, he fell back and swallowed gulps of air.

The man looked at him with squinted eyes, head tilted as if studying him. “Try again, thief?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, voice rough. He put his hands behind him again and leaned into the man’s lap. This time he managed to get a steady rhythm going, even if it was somewhat shallow, unable to bring himself to try anything with his throat. Soon he had the man above him moaning and swearing in English and Russian, hands running through his hair and down the sides of his face.

“Good, yes...so good. Beautiful American boy, suck cock so good for me." If the breathlessness was any indication, the guy was close. Dean hoped it would end soon but was dismayed when he heard, “you swallow like good little whore, yeah?” Dean knew he had no choice and let out a muffled “hmm-hmm” as he continued his steady rhythm of bobbing up and down.

The other man moaned loudly and let out a strangled “Fuck." Suddenly, strong hands held the sides of his head again, holding him still as the man’s hips thrusted violently, shoving the cock down his throat and cutting his breathing again. He flailed wildly but the man didn’t stop until he felt a steady pulsing in his throat and when he could finally breathe again it was with a tangy tasting, thick liquid coating his mouth and his lips, making him cough and sputter.

He looked up dizzily and made out a blurry cock being pumped lazily as the last bits of cum were smeared on his lips before he let his vision tunnel and felt a faraway thud as he hit the floor and blacked out.

He awoke to a splash of cold water on his face. He looked around wildly, spitting water all over the floor. For a second he was confused, but then he looked up and an ugly feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. 

"Out, I'm done with you." He took a sip of water, putting the cap back on when he finished. 

Dean stared up at him, utter confusion and anger on his face. He quickly picked himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking at it disgustingly when he wiped something off of his lips. "Fine, fucking psycho." He wanted him to leave, Dean had no problem with that.

He took a few steps and his vision darkened slightly as he staggered, then dropped to the floor again. When he came to he was laying down on the couch, the man hovering above him slapped him a few times on the cheek. 

“You are taking drugs? Why are you fainting on my floor? I say you can leave...go.” He shooed Dean with his hands and watched expectantly. 

Dean gave him a blank stare for a minute before collecting himself shakily. 

With an exasperated sigh, the man stopped him. “If you get up again you will just fall, I am not babysitter for fainting American boy.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him again, continuing to get up, “I’m not a kid you fucking dick, and I’m not sticking around any longer than I have to.”

"Stubborn, is cute."

Dean scoffed at him as he swayed on his feet. Without meaning to, he leaned too far into the other man, then collapsed back onto the couch. He rubbed his head with his hands and mumbled under his breath: " _haven'teateninafewdays."_

When asked to repeat himself, he mumbled a little more clearly. “I haven't eaten in a few days."

 “You want to rob me for food? You pass my kitchen while breaking in, that is where I keep all my food, why did you not take?” The man asked curiously.

 Dean gave him a weird look, “I uh… I need money. For food, and other stuff…”

"So drugs then." the man replied, sharply. 

"No, not drugs, asshole. Food for me and my little brother, enough to pay for a couple more days in our room at the motel, gas money, you know... stuff!" 

Without another word the man walked back into the kitchen. He expected this to be another trick. This time he stayed on the couch, uncapping the water bottle and taking a sip as he waited. 

“Here,” a banana flew through the air and Dean caught it easily, “eat something so you can go.”

“First you hold me here by gunpoint, now you wanna feed me and toss me out?” He asked, incredulously, before taking a bite and closing his eyes, enjoying being able to finally eat something.

The man shrugged. “So I’m bad guy, but with redeeming qualities. Eat your banana, drink your water.” He indicated to the fruit and to the bottle with a stern face.

 Dean rolled his eyes and finished up both the banana and the water. “So, I can just leave. You're not gonna try to kill me or anything?”

“No, if I wanted to kill you then you would be dead. I don't want to hide body tonight, I want sleep.”

Dean scoffed, “alright, man.” He got up, slightly steadier than before.

“Wait,” He said, getting up with him. Dean visibly stiffened and turned around with a wide eyed look of fear. For a second he feared turning around to a gun to his face. Instead, the man took out his wallet and pulled out three crisp hundred dollar bills and handed them to Dean. “Food, stay at motel, and plenty for... stuff. No need to hustle.”

Dean stared at him with wide eyed shock, “what the hell, what’s that for?” He got a shrug as a reply. “I’m not a whore, you don't pay me for raping me you crazy fuck.”

 His lips quirked into tiny smile. “Take money, get out, take care of little brother, take care of self. but…” he said, putting the money into the Dean's pocket and stepping into his personal space, “you want more money? You need help? You hungry? No more robbing. No more breaking into houses. Especially not mine, eh? My name is Castiel, you come back. I take care of little American thief.” He patted Dean on the head and smirked at him.

Dean's mouth dropped open and he tried to form words but was unable to. In the end he just nodded his head and walked towards the door. He unlocked it and turned to look at Castiel, “Dean,” he said, before walking out and closing the door behind him.

Dean walked out, still on shaky legs. He didn't know what the hell happened back there but he was glad he made it out alive, if not somewhat psychologically damaged after the events. The guy, Castiel, he was fucking weird. A psycho, he was sure of it. He pulled out the three bills that were in his pocket and stared at them in shock, shaking his head. Whatever was wrong with the guy, it worked for Dean. He got into his car and drove back towards the motel, happy that he had enough to pick up some food on the way back. He wondered if Castiel was serious about the offer. If he was, would Dean still take him up on it. That was something he had to think about. Tonight, he and Sammy were gonna eat like kings. It was worth it.

 

 


End file.
